


Headlights on Dark Roads

by imitateslife



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Established Relationship, Geralt and Jaskier adjust to retirement, Geralt and Jaskier adjust to settling down, Geralt is not much better, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jaskier and Geralt make it to the coast, M/M, Takes place on the West Coast of the US and I love it??, Will probably be part of a one shot series - it goes with an RP thing I'm writing with a friend, jaskier is a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Retirement suits neither Geralt nor Jaskier well and it's beginning to take a toll on their relationship. When Jaskier makes an impulsive decision and sparks a fight with Geralt, he has no idea what the repercussions will be, nor the new hopes for the future it will ignite.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96





	Headlights on Dark Roads

Jaskier slammed the door of the Maserati and threw it into reverse. The tires squealed as he pulled onto the road. The new neighbors could hear his music playing, bass pounding, as he drove towards the highway. Geralt was right: moving here had been Jaskier’s idea. If he wasn’t satisfied with it, it was nobody’s fault but his own. They’d spent the last two months cooped up in that house they’d bought on the coast, the one with the enormous yard for Roach to run in and three different bedrooms that Geralt let Jaskier decorate as lavishly as he wanted as long as their bedroom remained simple, and the marble tub big enough for two grown men to sit comfortably inside, and the vast windows overlooking the ocean and forest, making their life in the dirty, rough city seem a lifetime away. It had been heaven. **  
**

For a time.

But Geralt was a restless soul and Jaskier a reckless one and so maybe, just maybe, the domesticity of domestic bliss wasn’t all that blissful. Maybe they both craved the open road, the years of excitement, chasing different highs of fame and adventure, the uncertainty of tomorrow. Didn’t it all seem much more glamorous, now that every morning he was guaranteed to awake with Geralt at his side? Two months ago, he’d have given his left lung just to have Geralt near. And now… Now they were locked in an argument all because Jaskier had become discontent enough to wish for more.

“What if I went back to work?” he posited on that gray morning, over a bowl of mushy cereal. He pushed his spoon around in the milk and looked up at Geralt. Geralt frowned at his coffee mug, stroking Roach’s fur beneath the table. Besides the frown, there was no other indication that Geralt had heard him. Jaskier knew to look for those little signs, but he still tapped Geralt’s foot underneath the table. “Geralt? Did you hear me?”

“Mmm.”

“I’ve been thinking about it - actually I’ve been thinking a lot about it and it’d be good for me. For us. For the both of us. I’ve been offered a job, you see. Well, an opportunity, really. The kind of golden, glorious- Geralt, are you listening?”

Geralt looked up at Jaskier and set down his coffee. He still stroked Roach. This, Jaskier took as an invitation to continue speaking.

“A record label, Geralt,” he said quickly. “Some friends of mine from LA… They want someone experienced and respected in the music world, someone famous and talented, and I happen to fit the bill. It’s very flattering, actually, that they thought to ask me. The pay would only improve as we got more contracts-”

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt said, his first sentence of the morning. “We have money.” 

“Right, yes, we do. Which means we’d just have a bit more. And I’d only be gone once or twice a month once it got started…”

Geralt cocked his head. He stopped petting Roach and folded his hands on the table. 

“But you’d be gone more often while it got started. How often?”

“Well, you have to understand-”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s gravelly voice sounded more dangerous than usual. Their eyes met. Jaskier’s blood sluiced coldly in his veins. “You already signed the contract.”

Jaskier inclined his head, shrugged his shoulders. It was better, he reasoned, to ask forgiveness than permission. 

“Damn it, Jaskier.” Geralt pushed away from the table and skulled into the kitchen Jaskier followed on his heels, protesting. 

“I’ll ring them up now and tell them I can’t. If you don’t want me to do it- Do you want me to do it? I just thought you’d want me out of your silky locks every now and again, that it might be good for us. Geralt? Geralt... quit ignoring me. It doesn’t take that much concentration to wash a coffee mug! What’s got a bee in your bonnet about all this, eh? If you were given the chance to go back to work, you’d leap at it.”

“Is that what you did? Leaped at the chance to go back to work?”

“Hang on- I just meant… It’s been two months. Don’t you miss it?”

There had been a time when they didn’t know when next they would see each other or for how long. Jaskier’s manager would hire Geralt to do security for a bit or Geralt would need to network through Jaskier’s contacts and they’d work together for a time, stealing what little opportunity they could to be alone together. It had been thrilling, knowing that in any crowd, a pair of yellowish eyes, familiar and lovely, might be watching him; heartbreaking when they weren’t. The unpredictable nature of their romance in those days, paired with the rapture of chart-topping success and the temptations of fame beckoned Jaskier from greener pastures. There’d been a time when this life - a life with Geralt in a house on the coast had been more tempting, but the grass was truly greener on the other side, wasn’t it? 

Geralt’s face darkened as he turned off the tap water. He looked at Jaskier, expression unreadable. 

“You’re the one who wanted this,” he said. “The house, retirement… all of it was your fucking idea.”

“Oh, so when I want something else, suddenly the house on the coast is a good idea?” Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “You didn’t even want to move out here!”

Geralt said nothing. 

“So what should it matter, then, if I want to leave to go back to work a few times a month?” Jaskier continued dangerously. “Why did you ever agree to a house and a life with me, I wonder, when it was all my idea?”

“You want to leave? Then leave.” Geralt pushed past Jaskier. From the doorway, Roach whined. “I won’t stop you.”

Jaskier couldn’t breathe. He called Geralt’s name a few times, but Geralt disappeared down one of the massive hallways and left Jaskier alone. And so he did the only thing he could think to do: he grabbed his keys and his coat and stormed out to his car. Now, the Maserati knifed through the fog as the rain started to pour down. Jaskier could hardly see out of the windshield as he wound down the coastline. Geralt didn’t want him and so maybe his friends back in LA would have him. He could sleep on a couch or in a spare bedroom until the smoke cleared. _Stupid man!_ He really ought to have asked Geralt first, instead of accepting the offer and then posing it to Geralt like a question. 

He hadn’t even done that, he realized and suddenly, Jaskier didn’t want to go to LA. He wanted to go home and try again. He wanted to apologize and ask Geralt what he thought he should do and then phone his friends not with his answer, but with their answer. Jaskier looked for the turn-around. The signs were hard to see in the rain, but that must’ve been it, just ahead. He signaled and turned. He accelerated towards the house, towards Geralt, towards home.

And then he saw a pair of yellow headlights.

Jaskier awoke to the sound of something beeping, the click of footsteps on linoleum, the murmur of distant voices. The room smelled sharply clean and as he opened his eyes, his vision only took in bright whiteness - white light, white walls, white ceiling. The pain in his chest and head made his vision swim. Croakily, he tried to call out for someone - anyone. Instead, only one name gurgled from his lips: “Geralt…?”

“Over here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked and, even though it hurt, craned his neck so he could look to the side of his bed. Sitting uncomfortably in the chair was Geralt. His hair was pinned back messily as if he’d been sleeping here for a while and he wore the same, black t-shirt Jaskier remembered him wearing when they fought. Jaskier smiled an iron-tinged smile at him; his lips were split and dry. How long had he been asleep? Unconscious? Comatose? And how long had Geralt sat just like that in the chair beside the hospital bed, regretting every last thing they’d ever fought about? Jaskier regretted their fight, that was the absolute last thing he remembered before waking up was immense regret that he’d never get to apologize to Geralt. But now that they were both here…

“I bet you wish you never told me to leave,” Jaskier croaked. 

“You’re all right,” Geralt said. 

“Surprised you care. I didn’t even get to drive back to you and confess my love for you in the rain.”

“No, you mistook a one-way street for the turn-around instead,” Geralt said. “Much more romantic.”

“How did you know I-”

“I’m your medical contact. And your boyfriend. And your car was smashed into a barrier. Add it up.” 

The car. Jaskier hissed and shut his eyes. The Maserati. He’d bought it only three days ago when his friends proposed the record label to him. He remembered showing Geralt all the bells and whistles - the Bluetooth hook-up and the leather interior and the different gears. Geralt had seemed mildly impressed for a moment, but then, shrugging, said that his truck - the weather-beaten behemoth with the creaky seats - had seen them through plenty of adventures so far.

“We’ll have new ones!” Jaskier had protested and Geralt squeezed his shoulder and that had been so deliciously delightful that Jaskier couldn’t bear to tell him he’d accepted an offer from some friends in LA. Maybe if he’d told him then, instead of after the fact, they would have made angry, heated love in the Maserati and Jaskier never would have driven off in a rage. _Too late now._

“Totaled?” he asked, knowing the answer already. 

“You’re lucky you’ve only got a concussion and some broken ribs,” Geralt said. “You were out for a couple of hours, but you can come home in the morning.”

Jaskier leaned back against the pillows with a painful sigh. Broken ribs. He was lucky there was no worse damage. He imagined a punctured lung would keep him from singing; a broken wrist from playing any instrument at all. It was still a six week recovery time - give or take. He’d be laid up in bed most days and Geralt wasn’t exactly the caretaking type. The record label would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. 

“Fuck.”

“Mmm.” 

“I guess you’re getting what you wanted,” Jaskier said, a little sourly. “I won’t be fit to drive to LA like this. Won’t even have a car to drive there in unless you let me borrow-”

“No.”

“Thought not.”

Silence descended upon the two men. Somehow, as much as Jaskier wanted to grieve his lost opportunity, he was grateful. Of all things, he was most grateful for Geralt’s companionable silence; his mere presence put Jaskier’s mind at ease. He outstretched his hand for Geralt to take, almost certain he wouldn’t, but still hoping for a scrap of sorry affection.

Because he was sorry. Jaskier was sorry for fighting with Geralt, for making a choice without him, for thinking their life wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t enough, for a thousand things. Mostly, he was really, fucking sorry that he’d almost died without telling Geralt the truth: the life they’d built and had fought to build was everything he’d hoped for and he’d only leaped at the opportunity for something new for fear that Geralt would tire of it - and of him. How stupid could he be? Jaskier had known Geralt for too many years to believe that pack of lies. Geralt was not readily affectionate, not like Jaskier in the need for constant closeness and conversation. But he was a good man - the best Jaskier had ever loved, the best Jaskier had ever known - who was loyal and steadfast and kind. Jaskier had hurt him and, more than that, Jaskier had almost lost him on a fool’s errand. A warm hand wrapped around Jaskier’s fingers. He smiled palely at Geralt, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

“I’ll call my friends when we get out of the hospital,” he said, “and tell them to find someone else.”

“Maybe until you’re healed,” Geralt said. “I think it’d be good for you to have a hobby.”

Jaskier laughed weakly. 

“I should have talked to you first,” he said. “We make decisions together now. And if you don’t want me to-”

“Jaskier…”

“Well, what do you want? Do you want me home, do you want me gone? You’re remarkably stingy with words, love, and in case you haven’t noticed, reading minds isn’t one of my many talents.”

“I don’t want anything,” Geralt said.

“Don’t be a martyr-”

“I’m not. I have Roach. I have you. I have a roof over my head and I know where my next meal is coming from. What more am I supposed to want?”

Jaskier cocked his head. What more did he want? Better communication? More affection? More adventure? Did he want to marry Geralt?

The realization dropped like a stone into Jaskier’s stomach. Even if he wanted to marry Geralt, neither of them were the marrying sort. Were they? They’d been partners long enough, you would think… But then days like today happened. That was no foundation for a marriage, was it? 

Or maybe it was.

Jaskier couldn’t see himself living a life without Geralt. And what did husbands do, if not turn up to see your sorry ass when you nearly got yourself killed? He imagined Geralt in the waiting room, filling out forms for Julian Alfred Pankratz, and poring over insurance information that would be so much easier if it was shared. He imagined the nearly imperceptible worry on Geralt’s stern and handsome face and what gruff demands he must’ve made to be allowed in, despite not being family. _Not being family! After everything!_ Neither of them was the sort to settle down. Maybe neither seemed the marrying type, but for the first time in his life, Jaskier realized how badly he wanted his next adventure to be with a band around his finger, telling the whole world that whatever they thought of him, his promiscuous youth was gone and instead replaced with something solid and real and distinctly Geralt-shaped. If he started a record label and had to go to awards ceremonies again, he didn’t want to tug Geralt along as a bodyguard. He wanted to hang off his arm, proud to call him his very own. Was it greedy to want it all - success and stability alike? Jaskier didn’t know, but he did know that Geralt was here and there had never been anyone he loved more. There never would be. So he squeezed his boyfriend’s hand and said -

“Just promise me you want us to be happy together. Can we try that? See where that leads us?”

“If you promise not to land yourself in the hospital again for another stupid display of dramatics… _We’ll see_.”

Jaskier didn’t need to look to hear the smile in Geralt’s voice. Tomorrow, he’d be discharged from the hospital and tomorrow, he would deal with his broken ribs and begin to recover and he and Geralt would embark on this chapter of their lives with new parameters. But for now, it was enough just to hold his hand and have a quiet moment together.

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably end up in a series of modern-set AU drabbles/one-shots, written for my RP partner, who plays the Geralt to my Jaskier. As such, there may be references to things in our universe that do not stem from canon. I hope y'all enjoy it, regardless! They're a delight to write!


End file.
